


seeking

by gotham_ruaidh



Series: Gotham Writes for Imagine Claire & Jamie [42]
Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-07
Updated: 2016-05-07
Packaged: 2018-06-07 00:16:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6776155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gotham_ruaidh/pseuds/gotham_ruaidh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Imagine what could have happened after the dinner party in 02x04 "La Dame Blanche"...</p>
            </blockquote>





	seeking

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted at [Imagine Claire & Jamie](http://imagineclaireandjamie.tumblr.com/post/143688055399/seeking) on tumblr

Jamie rubbed his eyes as he plodded up the stairs, the click of his bootsteps echoing in the stairwell.

Those gendarmes had been so uninterested in what had happened - polite, but clearly there on the behest of that damned Comte. Claire had been so strong, sitting to one side of the chaise in the middle of the disastrous sitting room as the servants swept away the broken crockery and attempted to re-hang the curtains.

She had recounted her ordeal, step by step, second by second. Sticking to the facts, what she had seen, what she had not seen, what the men had said, how the men had acted. Her voice was unwavering, strong - but she gripped his hands so tight that he had nearly cried out. Desperately seeking silent strength - and he had provided it.

Not even Murtagh carrying away a half-asleep, half-drunk Fergus from the dining room had distracted her. She was eerily calm.

“I’m fine,” she had insisted, half a dozen times. “Perfectly fine.”

Because she had said so, he had not believed it.

So when he returned to her - and saw she had not moved from her perch on the chaise, her hands absently rubbing over the bairn, eyes transfixed on some random spot on the floor, Murtagh silently standing guard beside her - he knew exactly what he had to do.

“Claire?”

She blinked, startled, and raised her face to his.

So open. So exhausted.

He extended his right hand in invitation. “Let’s go to bed, lass. It’s been a long day.”

Her eyes unfocused, as if she didn’t recognize him. “Jamie?”

“Aye, it’s me. Let’s go, aye?”

And he didn’t wait for her to respond before picking her up, cradling her to his chest - like he had during those heart-stopping moments at Versailles. She melted against him. Murtagh swiftly stepped ahead of them, opening the door to the bedroom and holding the door back. Jamie nodded his thanks, turned sideways to fit through the narrow doorway, and waited for Murtagh to shut the door before gently laying her on the bed.

When his arms loosened, she dug her fingernails into his shoulders. “Jamie - ”

“Hush. I’m just going to lock the doors and windows. I’ll be right here. I’m no’ going anywhere.”

Swiftly he crossed the room to lock the door, drag her vanity up against it, and then bar all the windows and shut the drapes tightly, keeping a close watch on her out of the corner of his eye.

He watched her slowly sit up and swing her legs over the side of the bed, kicking off her shoes - why did she insist on wearing such terrible things, when her feet were now all swollen from the bairn, he had no idea - and fumbling with the ribbon tying that beautiful - magic? - stone around her bonny neck.

“Here, Sassenach - let me.”

He crawled on the bed behind her, undoing her laces. Massaged her shoulders as her dress opened like a clamshell, and she sighed breathily with relief.

“Do you remember the first time I did this for ye?” he said, softly, gently, bringing her back to the happiest night of his life.

“Mmm. I daresay you’ve gotten a bit better at it since then. Definitely faster.”

He felt her inhale as he swept a finger along the back of her neck. Good.

He pushed the sleeves of her dress down her shoulders, and went to work on her stays.

“Is this no’ too tight on ye now, wi’ the bairn?” He traced a groove where the laces had pressed into her flawless, luminous skin.

Her head lolled to one side. “I had Madame Tabenieux make one that doesn’t go so low, so that I can keep wearing it until the baby arrives.”

And he saw that there were far fewer laces on this one - she was right. Always thinking of the bairn - even when he had not.

Regret knifed his heart - but not now. That was in the past.

“Can ye stand for me?”

He pushed one hand on the small of her back, supporting her as she stood and faced him, the dress loose on her shoulders, a knowing smile gracing her lips as she shrugged out of the fabric and her stays. He watched, mesmerized, as it pooled on the floor, leaving her just in her shift and that beautiful stone around her swan neck.

He eased closer to the edge of the bed, on his knees before her.

She reached for him, tangling her fingers in his hair, untying the ribbon keeping his hair from his face. He settled his face against her, hands resting on the bairn - bliss.

Her body thrummed with anticipation - with love. With want.

Not yet.

“Ye canna tell me that ye’re fine,” he breathed into the skin of her neck. “I know you, Claire. Ye canna close yerself off. Ye must - ye must allow yerself to feel.”

She didn’t say anything - but he knew she had heard every word. Knew that now, in the safety of their room, in the sanctuary of his arms - she could release.

And she shuddered - not with want, but in a remembered fear, still so fresh and raw inside her.

“Tell me, Claire. Talk to me. Make me understand.”

She pushed his face lower - between her breasts. Cradling him.

“It’s all my fault, Jamie.”

He pulled the neck of her shift lower, lips skimming the side of one breast. “Tell me.”

“I insisted on walking from the Hopital - and I sent Fergus back with the message. If we hadn’t walked - if we had had Fergus with us - ”

He pulled back and met her eyes - swimming with unshed tears. “No, Sassenach. Ye canna think that.”

Her eyes narrowed, chin quivering in defiance. “Don’t tell me those weak words. You know it’s true.”

“I’m no’ using weak words - they’re true words.” He kept one hand on the bairn and moved the other to cradle her cheek, thumb tracing her lovely, full lower lip. “Murtagh told me someone had tampered wi’ the carriage. The Comte knew he was invited tonight - and he also knew where you were. It was his doing. It was exactly what he wanted.”

She swallowed, lips parting. His thumb remained on her lower lip - and she took it into her mouth, eyes so wide, desperate to connect with him.

But he gently withdrew and traced his thumb down to her chin, dimpled with repressed feeling.

“And Mary - oh, God. Mary.”

He sighed. “I know. I know.”

“She’s such a baby still - do you know I had to tell her about the facts of life? About what men and women do in bed? She was so terrified - even when I told her that it’s the most amazing thing, when it’s with a man whom you love, and who loves you deeply - ”

“Aye. It is.”

She turned her face into his palm, peppering it with kisses. Gently he moved her cheek so that she could face him again.

She was trying to hide. She was trying to do everything he had done to deflect attention from the painful, heart-wrenching facts.

It had poisoned them - poisoned their marriage. And he’d be damned if that would happen again, so soon after finally finding their way back to each other.

“And now - now she is - she is broken. Scarred. She - she’s another person I couldn’t save.”

His thumb traced the soft, soft skin under her eye, wiping away the tears. “What do ye mean? Ye saved her from that situation - ye doctored her afterwards.”

She swallowed, and a sudden sob ripped from her throat. “I couldn’t save you, either. I let you be - be *raped*. Just like with Mary - ”

No. This wouldn’t do.

“No, Claire. Ye canna think that way. It’s no’ even close - no’ nearly the same.”

Her hands shook with feeling. “Yes it is - don’t you see? It’s because of *me*. Because I chose to stay here, and love you, and live as your wife. Because of who I am - I’m dangerous to the people around me.”

“No, Claire.” He stood, towering over her, holding her shoulders tight, forcing her to look at him. “Ye canna say those things. I *chose* to let that happen to me. The Comte *planned* the attack. That’s no’ on you - do ye understand?”

“But had I not been here, Jamie - had I not been with Mary, she would never have been attacked. And - ” she swallowed hard, sniffling. “And had I never met you, you never would have been - been *brutalized* by that fucking sadist. It’s all my fault.”

His heart clenched with rage. Not at her - not at Randall, not at the Comte - but at the depths of her despair and self-doubt. Because that was him - had been him - was still him.

“Are ye saying ye regret marrying me, then? That ye regret meeting me?”

Her face crumpled. “No - no. Never. Jamie - ”

“Do ye regret me loving ye so much I canna ever find the words to describe it? Do ye regret how happy you make me? Do ye regret this bairn - this *miracle*, which we never thought we’d have?”

His hands braced her shoulders in an iron grip, wanting so desperately to just hold her, crush her against him - but also knowing that she needed to face these fears. Needed to get all of these feelings out.

“Never - I’d never regret any of that. Not you, not our life, not the baby. But do you understand, Jamie? It’s all my fault.”

“It’s *no’* yer fault, Claire. Who knows how things would have happened, had ye not been here? Mary is a sweet girl, but she’s too much of an innocent. She needs protection like a fragile wee flower - wi’ how she is, all sorts of bad things can happen to her.”

Claire sniffed, listening.

Good.

“And God only knows, I’d ha’ been deid half a dozen times had it no’ been for you. Ye’re no fragile flower. Ye are a lioness. Strong, fierce. Full of so much love. Ye heal me in all ways, Claire.”

She swallowed.

The corner of his mouth turned up in a small smile. “And had I no’ met ye, I would ha’ marrit a nice, docile girl. Like Laoghaire.”

Thunder flashed through her eyes. His lips split into a grin.

“No. No, that wouldn’t do.”

And then she almost strangled him as she untied his cravat. And he helped her by unbuttoning his vest, and pulling the shirt over his head, and then her fingers were at the flies of his breeches and he stood and he didna care one bit that her nails had scratched furrows along his hips, so eager she was to see him.

“You’re mine,” she rasped, pushing him back on the bed and shrugging out of her shift.

He moved the candle closer to the edge of the nightstand, so that he could see her face better. Enjoy how the shadows caressed her skin, dark secrets against the luminous light.

Then she straddled his hips, hands braced on the headboard. “I can be the six, and you the nine?”

He anchored his hands on the small of her back, fingers nearly touching. She was so small.

“No, my Sassenach. Not now. I want to watch you.”

She paused, heart so full, tears shining on her cheeks. Not with fear - or regret - but with so much love for this man, and his love for her, and the precious gift that was their life together.

He gently grasped her right hand, brought it to the side of his face, and kissed her - his - wedding ring.

She shifted - and he waited - and she found him.


End file.
